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If there were to be an elixir of eternity, of forevermore life, I should think it would look like this sunset so passionate and so beautiful, so gorgeous and glorious, a sumptuous, divine painting of ruby, gold, and sparkling ribbons of creamy clouds; lavender and violet, deepest blue around the very highest regions of the sky, as the world fades into night. There are many reasons I love sundown, when the yellow king of the day slips downwards to rest for a night, unable to hold off the darkness' growing strength; it signifies the end of the day, and the rising of my time; it signifies another day come and gone safely, without urgent threat upon our borders; it symbolizes a circle of life that turns forevermore. It is constant, even when days become short and nights drag out long. I fly, silhouetted sharp and dark against the gleaming rays of light of the dying eye, wings rustling as the desert turns blood red beneath the golden beams. The tips of my primaries, too, are edged finely in filigree gold and crimson, so unlike the normal, glossy darkness of regularity, or the softening colors of twilight and moonlight melting upon them, rounding the edges, so unlike the harshness and clarity brought by the falling sun.
Twilight was quick to take tonight, and so came the night on the bitter coldness of Orangemoon's disconsolate, frosted breath. I am kept warm by feathers luxurious and thick, but even so my eyes sting with the wind at them, even if it is but a light breeze. This twilight melts everything together it, a finger rubbing the line between day and night and sunset with a charcoal pastel. Everything is almost murky, all silver and soft shades of gray, and the lines of the lake and the murmuring ocean and the sand and the grass all run together into one great dusky shimmer.
On I still fly. I could live up here, I sometimes tell myself, with the beautiful of the wide open horizon untouched by great, looming mountains or tall thick trees. If there is one thing I love about the desert, it is the grand halls of the clouds and the great open horizon. The storms are mighty and perilous, most especially in these Orangemoon days, and I would not dare to risk them, but for most part, all is well. Even despite the colors whirling together, quickly sucked away by the twilight, I glimpse a shadow rising to the sky alongside me. I would have thought most would have landed, folded wings and began to graze for a snack before lids would drift shut and the foals would lie upon the grass under the careful eyes of loving mares. I make it my duty to know at the very least the names of all I am lucky to share this home with, and I do recognize her by face- but not by name. But I don't want to soar over to her, and so I refrain until night falls.
Yet still the mare flies, and so I decide it must be the gods wishing me to share my time of 'day' with her. I tilt my right wing, soaring downwards in a lazy banking motion, before pulling up a good wing-span away. Right now I am creamy-coated, dipped in moonbeams, and my wings glitter softly with the brightness of the full moon tonight. "I am Andromeda!" I call out quietly over the gentle wind I have stirred with my wingbeats. I say nothing more, but proffer her a warm, sincere smile.
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